The Cypress Wreath

O lady twine no wreath for me, Or twine of the cypress tree! Too lively glows the lily’s light The varnish’d holly’s all too bright, The May-flower and the eglantine. May shade a brow less sad than mine, But, lady, weave no wreath for me, Or weave it of the cypress tree.

Let dimpled mirth his temples twine With tendrils of the laughing vine; The manly oak, the pensive yew. To patriot and to sage be due, The myrtle bough bids lovers live, But that Matilda will not give; Then, lady, weave no wreath for me. Or twine it of the cypress tree.

Let merry England proudly rear Her boasted roses-bought so dear; Let Albyn bind her bonnet blue. With heath and hare-bell dipt in dew, On favour’d Erin’s crest be seen The fiow’r she loves of emerald green : But, lady, twine no wreath for me, Or twine it of the cypress tree.